


Committed

by Izvin



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: 17th Century, And other dilemmas, Assassination, Attraction, Birds of feathers trope, Confiding, Dialogue Heavy, Escape, Espionage, F/M, France (Country), Investigations, Kinda like Dating Catwoman trope, King Louis XIV's court, Lies, Loss of Innocence, Manipulation, Moral Dilemmas, Protectiveness, Scheming, Seduction, Sex, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25999225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izvin/pseuds/Izvin
Summary: I cannot quite make my peace with turn of events in the third series of Versailles. To be precise, what on earth was that bit about Marchal practically telling Sophie he recognizes her for a murderess only for the next interraction to come and him professing his trust and sleep with her and later as he catches her the situation resolving through „love in her eyes“. It seemed too out of blue and character.So I rewrote it a bit.
Relationships: Fabien Marchal/Sophie de Clermont
Kudos: 14





	Committed

He doesn’t make a move, because he has no proof. And so he quietly pieces together Sophie‘s real agenda, waiting for her to make a mistake. Everything changes, when he receives an order to assassinate princess Eleanor of Austria.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s been ordered to kill a child. He remembers taking Queen Marie Therese’s bastard from the wet nurse and holding it underwater. The new-born would die if not for new orders reaching Fabien before it was too late. The wet nurse didn’t have the same luck. There was no flinching back then.

What makes it different this time?

Well, the baby would hardly have any decent life having dark skin of its father. And it was a matter of protection of royal family and dynasty in highly unstable earlier days of king Louis‘ reign. Not perhaps the most necessary, but decidedly important. His duty seemed so simple back then.

This is no protection though. King or his position aren’t in danger and the situation is hardly an unfair misfortune. Just a prideful greedy chase for who marries their niece to the king of Spain. Cardinal has to pick between Eleanor and Marie Louise and Louis wants to remove the competition all the while playing other dangerous and even contradictory games. In his fears of being nothing he seeks to get his hands on everything with downright recklessness. And it is taxing, dangerously taxing.

That’s what changed. The pedestal he defends. He is to be unfailingly loyal, as he’s used to be so far, but he’s been feeling betrayed and doubtful. That’s what changed too. Dutifulness is the only virtue he thinks he can lay a claim to, both as a man and in his line of work. He clings to it all the more for it. But it looks less and less like that. Maybe he’s growing soft with age (and losses). And maybe he’s growing wiser.

It is not his place to judge both in regards to the object of his opinions and in regards to who he himself is and what he’s committed (but in whose name (what does it matter, he made the choices and found satisfaction in many)). But Fabien made himself into an instrument, embodying function of analysis for tackling risks, people’s qualities, predictions, the most reasonable strategies, discrepancies, radiance and filth of truth and the choice to hit upon someone. He cannot, would not turn it off. And therefore he disapproves and hesitates.

No, it is not his place to openly question and refuse. After one careful remark gets deflected by his king and that seemingly clement face he wears, Fabien nods in agreement to proceed with the task.

And finds himself walking towards chambers of duchess de Cassel.

“Good morning.”

Her expression bright and welcoming. Always so courteous. He doesn’t respond, only walks past her and scans the room. Rather distractedly. He listens to the way fabric of her gown rustles. His mind races while his movements lag. What is he going to do? Is he really going to do this?

“I can see you are here on official visit. Looking for evidence.”

Just a hint of sarcasm. He glances behind his back, stares at her forearms, pale against black locks and black lace that she is fixing on her head (for her victim’s funeral) and so calm and steady and languid. She has nothing to fear. Alright, so Leopold really didn’t provide her with means to kill anyone else. He stops pretending to search boxes on her fireplace and makes his way towards the window. It was just an empty routine anyway.

“I have a standard to upkeep, you know.”

His palm hovers above her nape uncertainly before he drops it and moves away.

“Or at least its appearance.”

She mutters. Sophie has noticed how empty handed and clueless he is, how his circling of hers is losing its former focus and purpose, now an end in itself. He’s been putting together a picture, not trying to strike. He gives her a piercing stare.

“It is all we have sometimes, don’t we?”

That was a jab at her. She doesn’t turn defensive. The smile she gives him is radiating warm understanding. Spelling out how she reads in the utterance more about him than about herself.

“But it weighs on you. You should drop the burden from time to time a rest a bit. Or your back breaks.”

It might anyway. To do, what she did and he hunted her for. Retaliate. Stoop to the same level. There is no righteousness, only sides. But why and how do we pick them and what are the borders and hierarchy of loyalty? Does she have her own answer? Or it has turned just as murky for her? He crosses his arms on his chest.

“And who shall hold it in the meantime?”

But there is this other option. Mutual benefit perhaps. She gets up from her stool.

“Someone trustworthy.”

She answers, rounds the table and walks to him.

“Like you?”

Did he figure her out correctly? She stops only half a step from him and then leans forward few more inches.

“You tell me. Isn’t it what you really came here for?”

What on earth is he going to do? _This._

“Yes.”

He breathes out.

“I am tired of it.”

And allows himself to touch her at last.

“I need you.”

He melts into her embrace. She smells like anise and dusk.

“I’ve been waiting for these words for so long.”

She whispers into his ear while her arms encircle him. _Yes, think I am submitting at last, think that._ He kisses her and in between hungry touches words spill from his tongue like blood from opened vein.

“You worked with me… You understand…”

She responds eagerly, both words and fingers pulling at his hair and the sting of it is so sweet.

“I do…”

He starts disrobing her. So many lacings, oh, just why so many… He continues speaking while at it.

“The doubts. And the things they ask for…”

She pries his hands from her bodice to rid him of his doublet. Next come the trousers.

“Solutions…”

He presses his lips to her shoulder as she joins in the litany. 

“They bait.”

Licks it.

“Risks…”

Bites.

“And they blackmail.”

Her gown slides of her form and pools around her legs. He maps curve of her ass and then lifts her up.

“Sacrifices…”

They hit the bed with gasp.

“And they don’t care for costs and wounds.”

She finishes and wraps her legs around him.

“I am sorry, Sophie.”

He kisses her on the mouth, deep and long and when they break apart she looks at him and says:

“I know.”

_No, not yet._

They speak no more after that. It’s only sighs and moans and warm wet bliss of hungry lips, damp skin and their union. He had to take this, the last opportunity, he had to… For few moments everything else is pushed back, stops existing.

And then as rising tide comes back.

“Will you come to me again?”

Sophie asks and behind playfulness he hears hope. _Not if everything pans out as intended._

“This very evening, unless you are against that.”

He untangles himself from the covers and starts putting on his garments. She lifts herself on her elbows showing off her perky breasts.

“On the contrary. Cannot wait.”

And then the last part comes.

“I have a favour to ask.”

“Ah, the real reason of your coming.”

She jokes.

“You got me there.”

He grins back.

“As you must have noticed, the king took some interest in the Eleanor of Austria.”

“Yes, I saw them interact. The princess was overjoyed.”

“Then she will be even more now. He desires a private meeting with her. In the orangery. Before funeral. It all hinges on the fact her uncle Leopold is not to find out. Could you arrange that?”

“Easy. On that you can trust me.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

He kisses her goodbye and departs. It is done. He could have said it directly. But that’s not how it works between them. Always something to fight over, hide, withhold, resist, suspect… He stations himself at the entrance of gardens and waits. Princess doesn’t come. Princess in fact is nowhere to be found and the same goes for duchess de Cassel. _So she did put the two and two together._ It takes short time to find out into what direction they rode and soon he pursues them with few more men.

At the crossroads he finds a fallen golden ribbon. For a time being he wonders, if it wasn’t planted by Sophie to mislead him, but then he comes across abandoned horse, well-bred and with a high quality saddle and a wounded hoof, his instinct proven true. What little they might have had of head start, it will shorten now that they have to share a mount. Anticipation pricks him.

In the early morning he and his men arrive at an old decrepit dwelling. Grey stone crumbling, silent, it looks lifeless and inconspicuous, but he can sense that someone’s hiding there and his heartbeat speeds up.

He tells the musketeers to secure the grounds while he goes for the prey and they don’t question him, in fact some seem slightly relieved they don’t have to take part in the killing. Leave it to the head of king’s police, dark-clad stone-faced menace Marchal who doesn’t know mercy.

He stalks towards the building and barn catches his eye. He peers into shadows inside, spots a sleeping girl in a yellow gown, her brown locks messy and tangled with straw and in a darker corner right from her a silhouette covered by a purple cloak. He stands still.

That’s it, the decisive moment. Until now everything proceeded on its own, he passively dragged along. In a way it would be easier, if they did escape. He’d return, report his failure, weather Louis’ outburst and then receive instructions for something else, because these days were busy and his service needed. Nothing would change. But he’s found them and a choice was laid in front of him.

Once again he asks himself, if he really wants to proceed with his plan. Whatever he does now, it will commit him to a path and something threatening looms there. He sharply exhales. Threats are his lifelong companions, closer than any lover. He won’t be cowed. He walks in.

Before he can cross half a distance towards the princess, he feels something hard collide with his head, frightful cry of awakened princess drowned out by pain. _Sophie…_ She must have hid behind the opened door. He falls on his knees and finds himself complimenting her crafty strike in some detached corner of his mind.

But he can’t let her bludgeon him to death (and she would go for that, better sure than sorry and ruthlessness a daily bread, that’s what they have in common, what he helped bring out in her). Before she can hit him again, he catches her hand, throws her to the ground and pins her. She keeps struggling and rises her voice in accusation before he manages to silence her.

“What kind of man kills an innocent girl?!”

_The one you’re looking at. But not today._

“Hush! I am not here to kill her.”

He hisses.

“I am here to retrieve something of hers that I can bring as a proof of fulfilling my orders.”

She peers at him with confusion and scepticism.

“We both know the king rejected her advances and once he had his chosen mistress back, he didn’t so much as glance at her again. Why would he demand her to meet with him privately? I expected you to realize something is amiss and make a run for it. She…”

Fabien gestures with his head towards the princess pressed against the wall who flinches at the motion.

“…Needs you to survive. And I need to make a show of doing my duty without bringing her body.”

“That’s a bit overcomplicated.”

“It worked, did it not?”

“I guess so.”

“Can I let you go? If you attack me again I will stun you, but I don’t want her to be here on her own for God knows how long till you wake up with a headache, so I’d like to avoid that.”

“Yes, you can.”

He slowly withdraws his hands from her body, fingers lingering in ghostly trail and then crawls back a bit. Sophie sits up rubbing the spots where he gripped her. She throws him a quizzical look, delicate lips forming almost a pout.

“You seem oddly concerned about Eleanor’s wellbeing.”

Fabien shrugs.

“If she perished on her escape anyway, it wouldn’t count as defying king’s orders.”

One corner of those lips quirks.

“Always so punctual…”

“What do you want as a proof?”

Rings out a shaky voice from behind them. Oh right, the princess. He nearly got lost in their verbal sparring again, too used to enjoyment of their cat-and-mouse chase, damn his former mentee. He turns towards the girl. She trembles under his attention.

“Maybe my shawl?”

He looks at the offered piece of silk. Luxurious, but frankly pretty common in their societal circles. That won’t do. His eyes roam her ignoring her unease. Something small and personal, easily identifiable as hers and only hers...

“This.”

He reaches out, wraps his fingers around gold and pearls of her necklace and tears it off. Princess gasps.

“But that’s a gift from my late mother!”

“Excellent.”

He gets up again.

“What now?”

Sophie asks, her mind on planning again.

“Wait for an hour after we leave and then use the west route. Do not stop.”

He looks at her carefully, then turns on his heel and walks out. He is not surprised though when he hears footsteps following him. Fabien looks out the door and the area is thankfully empty. Peering over the wall on his left, he sees all his men in safe distance. Seeing him relax, Sophie emerges too.

“How did you know I would react this way?”

He didn’t. He hoped. It was a test. He leans against the wall shielding the entrance to the barn.

“I’ve noticed you two have grown protective of each other. She came to your side when I questioned your whereabouts and you guarded her steps. I saw the concerned looks, comforting, satisfaction as you explained something to her… It were no longer just Leopold’s orders. You’ve grown attached. And you wanted to make up with one dear life saved for the other destroyed.”

There wasn’t just guilty fright in her eyes of murderess, there was also deep mourning.

“Your saving grace.”

And his cherished fall. She looks away, bothered by having her secrets laid out so bare. Then she shakes her head, coal black hair caressing her cheeks and shoulders.

“I think she reminds me of myself, when I came to Versailles.”

He nods. He sees it now. Naïve playful enchanted newcomer looking for love elsewhere than is expected from her, so innocent and besieged. Her uncle using his niece in similar way as Beatrice de Clermont her daughter (as Fabien did later), just being more dismissive. She fulfilled that part of the role first, being attentive and passing on courtier’s experience, then she came to care and protect where she wasn’t. To survive and break free was the goal.

“You were less vapid and spoilt.”

“She is young.”

Well if there is anything to chase youth away, it is hardship and there’s aplenty on the horizon. Hopefully Eleanor has as tenacious a core as the woman in front of him.

“You lied to me there, Marchal.”

“Yes and no.”

He meant those words. Each one of them.

“You tricked me.”

He bares his teeth.

“Weren’t you attempting the same?”

She scoffs, but nods.

“Point taken.”

“This is the only reason I gave up on arresting you for treason.”

Going into hiding was in effect as good as imprisonment and execution. She would no longer be able to sabotage Versailles on her employer’s behalf. Heavens know how long till he would catch her otherwise and what she would get up to in the meantime, she’s become very good at what she did (and heavens know what would her face do to him should it join her mother’s in haunting his dreams).

He pushes himself from the stonework, walks to her and tips her chin up looking deep into her eyes.

“And should we meet again I will do my duty.”

She returns his piercing gaze firmly.

“Like you did last three times?”

He tightens his hold on her face.

“Are you pressing your luck?”

“Just trying to understand.”

She whispers softly.

“That makes two of us.”

He’d like to stand here for longer, indulge attraction and curiosity and urge to sort out what they’ve done to each other. But the men might grow impatient. Fabien lets go of her and heads to the edge of the wall.

“Wait.”

She grabs his arm with both of her hands. There is leather of his gloves and doublet in the way, but it burns as much as when her nimble fingers dug into his naked skin. He pauses and turns back to her with one eyebrow raised.

“Thank you, Fabien.”

“Don’t. It will be a hard road.”

Her dark eyes glint with something akin to dangerous mystery of deep waters.

“Yours too.”

He says nothing to that, just frees his hand and walks away. Echo of her touch haunts him all the way back. Echo of her words far longer.


End file.
